The Endorsement: "Exporting Raymond" the Documentary

Phil Rosenthal's touching account of morphing his American hit into something everyday Russians has a couple of key notes of appeal.

First, it's wonderful to see the smartest guy in the room (Rosenthal himself) also be the most humble.  But more acutely, there is a scene in the film that brilliant captures the creative process, proving that comedy truly is hard.

. . . I don't know how Larry David banged out all of those Seinfeld episodes.  What pressure!

Cheffing: Minute steak, a cut for the 99%

Inspired by a trip to Whidbey Island a month ago, the Wallingford Brownstein's have joined the ranks of "quarter cow"splits.


Along with three other nice families, we are the proud owners of an 1/8 of a cow.  I feel somehow elated and sad all at once, knowing that every burger, roast, steak and rib I consume over the next 90 days will be thanks to one single animal.  As my uncle Fumio, the Buddhist monk, says "The animal gave it's life for your plate; DON'T mess up the recipe!"


Over the weekend, I enjoyed preparing a "mystery cut" known as cube steak, or more descriptively, "minute steak".  A cut for the 99% (vs. the premium steaks that go for $10/lb), it hails from the upper round of the cow, and it makes a terrific homey meal to feed a growing family.  I thawed our minute steak and discovered that the butcher had kindly tenderized the cut for us.


Pounding it down a bit more to a "king's fingernail of height", I then applied the true "minute" technique, allowing each side 60 seconds with a hot cast iron skillet.  The aroma smacked much more of burger meat, transporting me to my Mother's kitchen of "burger steaks".


Thinly sliced and spiced up with an uber-simple chicken stock + bbq sauce + butter reduction, it had a wonderful, approachable flavor.  It's the kind of red meat you remember from summer camp.  Absolutely not gourmet, and absolutely satisfying in a mildly guilty way.


Here's a winning preparation from Chef John (Food Wishes/Allrecipes.com) that I followed almost to a tee.

Sales Genius: A nice lesson in persistence

I admire Haven's persistence here.

And there is a subtle note; he blurts out "cerrado!" (meaning "closed!" in Spanish).  I believe that SaaS Sales professionals often UNDERESTIMATE the value of setting the demo/appointment.  That in and of itself is a "close".

Father's Day musings: progress, not perfection

When I was eight years old, my parents returned from a long overdue date night with a shocking development.  

Nestled alongside left-over chicken cutlets ensconced in a foil swan shivered a foundling toy poodle.  Part Disney ruse (pure blanca but sullied by the grit of Palo Alto's mean streets), part ruffian (her paw nails were adorned with kiss-me-red nail polish), she was vulnerable, authentic and just what we needed as a family.

Carrying on a long standing tradition of naming dogs after exotic dancers, we called her "Misty."  A bitch with a affable demeanor, she exhibited talents that my brother and I grew to love over the years.  Of note, Misty could address the meaty bone of a porterhouse steak (charred to perfection by my Dad on the Weber one-touch) and return it to the kitchen floor as clean and white as her curly coat.  

This Father's Day, I set-out to recreate the T-bone experience of days gone by.  I guess that parenthood affords the perfect opportunity to live in the past and savor its flavor in the present moment.  Sourcing the steak meant a journey to the Saturday Farmer's Market, a daddy-daughter ritual that Emma and I have come to embrace.   At the Olsen Farm vendor stand, we forewent the massive coolers of rib-eyes and filets (the "Stratocaster" cuts of red meat due to their ease of preparation and approach-ability).  In the corner cooler, we hoisted behemoth t-bone chops, tipping the scales at nearly 1.5 pounds.  The porterhouse, a thicker endeavor and never skimping on the filet side, is the Les Paul of beef.  Massive, brooding and only wielded by the fearless ( . . . or the foolish).  

Sunday morning over my usual Hair Bender free pour, I was absorbed in fashioning strawberry/blueberry pancakes for a much jet-lagged Megumu and a much hungry Emma.  In between flap-jack flips batter-sullied fingers frantically checked weather reports.  According to google, weather.com and my long Sunday run, it would likely rain on the grill master's parade.  

What to do?

And then it dawned in me that the inspiration for my Father's T-bone Sunday dinners was not some Texas oil bbq pit, but the classic/clubby environs of Gene & Georgetti and Peter Lugers.  If these institutions could produce the perfect porterhouse indoors, than surely so could I!  A digital audible call landed me on the perfect recipe, one that leveraged my go-to cast iron skillet (a purchase I made more than 10 years ago with no knowledge of what a wise move it would turn out to be).

With Megumu fresh back from Tokyo, I had the kitchen to myself , as the mother and child reunion unfolded in the family room.  I was focused, deeply determined and utterly confident that I would deliver a buttery, elegantly crusted, piping hot steak that many would be willing to travel in a black town car across a bridge to wolf down.

As my dear brother would say, I achieved "progress, not perfection."  A little overdone.  A little too cool.  A little less salty than we would have liked.  

But unlike the blokes under the L and in Brooklyn, I had the world's most forgiving diners.  Megumu and Emma scarfed down my near-masterpiece and proclaimed me the double Grammy winner; world's greatest Dad and world's top chef.

The perfect Father's day gift.